


One quarter missing.

by RussianSunflower3



Series: Seijou 4 Week; Sunflower style [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Day 5, Grieving, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Seijou 4 Week, Truck-san strikes again, injured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianSunflower3/pseuds/RussianSunflower3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life wasn’t fair.<br/>Life was seemingly never fair. </p><p>The worst things always seemed to happen to the people that deserved them least. It wasn’t like the movies or the books. Good people did not always win, and the bad were not always punished. Often, it was the other way round and it just <em>wasn’t fair</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hospital.

Life wasn’t fair. Life was seemingly never fair. The worst things always seemed to happen to the people that deserved them least. It wasn’t like the movies or the books. Good people did not always win, and the bad were not always punished. Often, it was the other way round and it just _wasn’t fair_.

They had just been walking home.

They had literally _just_ been walking home.

The truck had come from nowhere. Later, they would find out that the driver had passed out at the wheel after a heart attack, but was recovering. It was a relief he wasn’t dead, but it was very little comfort for their situation. Oikawa sat back in a chair in the hospital corridor, eyes squeezed painfully shut and head against the wall as he fought down the urge to cry. Matsukawa paced the hallways up and down, up and down, never stopping, never slowing, and never speeding up. Just a constant motion that betrayed his fragility. Iwaizumi was sat on the floor beyond Oikawa’s reach, knees drawn up to his chest and face buried in them as his shoulders shook but nothing else moved.

Hanamaki wasn’t with them.

Hanamaki wasn’t there.

Hanamaki was the reason they were waiting in the hospital hallways, distressed and worried and _destroyed_.

Life wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t **fair**. Hanamaki didn’t deserve to be in a hospital room, in surgery that his life depended on, because of a stupid _truck_. He was pure and carefree, kind and supportive. He had risked his own life pushing Iwaizumi out of the way when he froze on the spot, the complete opposite reaction the situation demanded. Matsukawa and Oikawa had both fled. Hanamaki had taken a few steps out of the danger zone, realised Iwaizumi wasn’t moving from the spot, and come back to push him out of the way. Out of _impact_.

Matsukawa, Oikawa and Iwaizumi still weren’t sure if the cracking they heard was their hearts, or Hanamaki’s bones. They didn’t know if it was his scream or their own. But they knew it was his blood. They knew it was his _body_. They knew it was their selfless boyfriend, sprawled on the pavement after being hit by a truck and trapped under one of the wheels. They knew how hard it was to let him go when he had to be loaded into the ambulance, but they watched him leave because they _knew_ he would be more likely to survive there than in their arms. 

They knew it was unlikely he’d pull through. They’d been warned to expect the worst. But despite what everyone was telling them, they hoped and prayed and believed. Hanamaki would make it. Hanamaki _would_ make it. It became a mental chant that circulated Matsukawa’s head as he paced up and down because he refused to accept anything else. He was falling apart, but if he accepted that anything else would happen, he would crumble and break. It was his best friend since middle school and boyfriend since high school trapped behind those ivory doors, intimidating and daunting as they cut the boys off from one of their four. A quarter of Matsukawa was missing, but it felt more like his entire heart.

Oikawa wasn’t falling. Oikawa wasn’t crying. Oikawa was _empty_ , sitting on the bench with limbs like lead that wouldn’t move and a silent mind that only registered the white of the ceiling and nothing else. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. Everything was numb, so _numb_ , because if it wasn’t numb, it would be the worst pain he’d ever felt. It would be worse than his knee, worse than failing college, worse than that time he’d started a huge fire in the kitchen. This would be pain that felt like death, caused by death, and it would drain the energy and life from Oikawa’s body if he lost Hanamaki.

_“It’s all my fault.”_ It wasn’t said verbally. It wasn’t even mentioned. But it radiated like poison from Iwaizumi, curled up into a tight ball and barely breathing. His shoulders were shaking and they would occasionally hitch with a hiccup or gasp for air, but that was all. He was – as part of his namesake suggested – as still as a rock. _It’s all my fault_. The toxic mentality was gripping him like a claw, and he wondered if Hanamaki felt the same pressure in the jaws of death, fighting for survival. Iwaizumi wanted to rewind time and make sure this hadn’t happened. Hanamaki didn’t deserve it. Hanamaki didn’t deserve _anything_ that caused him pain. Hanamaki didn’t deserve to be a cold slab on a metal table, cut apart and stitched back up then stuffed in a body bag and sealed away.

A door opened. Matsukawa whipped his head around to the open surgery doors, the light above it a glaring red that showed the surgery was over. For a second, there was a tense yet hopeful atmosphere. The surgery was over. And with a solemn shake of the surgeons head, so was Matsukawa’s dream of all four of them growing up together.

The surgery failed.

The surgery _failed_.

Hanamaki Takahiro, 17, was dead.

Matsukawa fell to his knees in slow motion, burying his face in his hands with wide eyes and parted lips, too shocked to physically cry whilst he fell to pieces inside. He choked a dry sob, which instantly let the other two know exactly what the prognosis was. Oikawa didn’t move, but he heard. He heard and the numbness dissolved into _agony_ that had tears as hot as flame dripping down his cheeks. Iwaizumi, in an instance, pushed himself off from the floor so quickly that Matsukawa couldn’t see his face, but his heavy and fast footsteps were evident of internalised anger at himself, stomping down the hallway and pushing through the doors out of the corridor with too much strength.

He can’t get anywhere without Matsukawa. Iwaizumi doesn’t have the bus tickets that will return them home. Therefore, Matsukawa isn’t too worried, because he knows he can find Iwaizumi again. On the other hand... He glances over to Oikawa, lying still in the chair with a heaving chest and disgusting crying face. He’s lost. Well and truly lost in the barrenness of his own mind, overcome by grief and the hole left behind from having Hanamaki violently torn from their lives. Slowly, hands shaking but the rest of him deceivingly stable, Matsukawa manages to stand up and come over to Oikawa’s side, dropping into the chair next to him and pulling him close.

There- There isn’t much else he can _do_. They’re all in the same boat, but they each react differently and it’s so hard to think of supporting these two when he’s falling apart himself. When Hanamaki isn’t with them anymore. There’s a Hanamaki shaped hole in his heart - in his life - and Matsukawa doesn’t know how to bandage it up and carry on. 

It takes a long time for Oikawa to come back from wherever he disappeared to, but Matsukawa can’t be angry. Not when they’re hurting so bad. He’s pretty sure Oikawa disassociated, for the first time in his life. It’s a scary experience, Hanamaki used to tell him how hollow it feels even once it’s over, so Matsukawa wraps his arms tighter around Oikawa and pulls him into a proper hug, burying his face in Oikawa’s shoulder and finally - _finally_ \- crying. Oikawa follows in his steed with this little whimpers that are so full of pain, it sounds like he’s the one who was hit by a truck.

“T-Tooru...” It’s the first word this hallway has heard for the past two hours. It’s a heartbroken whisper, a plea for help and comfort, whilst trying to be supportive at the same time. They’re lost. They’re so _lost_ because everything happened so quickly and Hanamaki is _**gone**_. It’s disorientating. Time doesn’t exist. Other people are merely shadows walking past with echoes of their voices. A heart pulls each crack further apart every time it beats.

“Issei... Issei, please... Please tell me this is a n-nightmare... Please wake me up...!” Oikawa’s hands claw into Matsukawa’s back with desperation as he squeezes his tearful words out. It’s almost too much. Matsukawa almost shatters, right then and there. But instead, he brushes a hand through Oikawa’s hair, pushing back the hair over his ear and whispering right into the shell.

“I’m so sorry...” There is no waking up. There is no realising this was a cruel and twisted nightmare. There is no startling conclusion that allows them to reverse this or pretend it isn’t real. It’s real life, and Hanamaki is dead.

He’s dead and he’s _never_ coming back.

It’s too much. Matsukawa shudders, buries his face in Oikawa’s shoulder once more, and cries freely. He finds himself cursing the cruel world for reclaiming one of its stars. He hates the idea of fate and destiny, because this was not what Hanamaki should have been doomed to do. He should have become a stable presence in this world, not leave it completely. Matsukawa finds himself stopping with a pang of self- hatred; because a voice in the back of his head cruelly whispers _“It was Iwaizumi’s fault.”_

No... No. He refuses to believe that, no matter how much it taunts him. It wasn’t Iwaizumi’s fault.

_But he did freeze up._

He was suffering from Hanamaki’s loss too.

_He could have easily gotten out the way_. 

He loved Iwaizumi as much as he loved Hanamaki, and there was no way he would bring himself to hate one just because the other was gone.

_He killed Takahiro._

“Come on, Tooru. Let’s go home.” He speaks over the whisper in his mind. To hell with that thought, it’s wrong, wrong, **wrong**. He won’t let that kind of toxicity control him, not when he knows it’s an extreme reaction caused by the new loss of someone he dearly loved.

“N-no... Noooo... We can’t leave without T-Takahiro... He’s part of our home...” Oikawa looks up at Matsukawa with wide, watery eyes, filled with distress that hurts Matsukawa’s heart. Oikawa is right. Hanamaki is a home within them, and part of the home they wish to return to. But Hanamaki is gone. Their home is crumbling. The first wall is gone.

“Let- Let’s go back... To the house.”


	2. Not okay.

The house is more of an apartment, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a lounge all on the same floor. It’s mostly open plan, except for the long corridor that stretches from living room to front door. A corridor that Oikawa constantly keeps his eyes on, sitting there cross-legged waited for Hanamaki to come home, as if it was all a big prank.

He won’t. It’s already been over a month.

Oikawa is well aware that he will never waltz back into their life. But he wishes. He dreams. He sits on the floor and looks up at the corridor as he imagines what would be happening right now if Hanamaki had pulled through.

For one, he wouldn’t be sitting on the floor. He’d be sitting on the edge of a bad, Hanamaki lying down and spoilt rotten by his boyfriends as he recovers. Matsukawa would be lying on his stomach on the floor, reading through a book and pointing out bizarre and contradictory statements to make Hanamaki laugh. Iwaizumi would be in a chair by the bed, using a sharp knife to peel an apple and cut the slices into little bunnies – just the way Hanamaki liked them when he was ill.

But Oikawa is sitting in the hallway dreaming all these things were happening, when the reality is so bleak. Matsukawa hasn’t emerged from the room he shared with Hanamaki except to use the bathroom and maybe grab a snack from the kitchen. He hasn’t changed his clothes from the pyjamas he forced them into when they returned from the hospital. After that, he allowed himself to fall apart. 

Oikawa occasionally joins him in the bed, clinging on with desperation and enjoying the warm feeling as they hold and find brief comfort in each other. He manages to get Matsukawa to shower once or twice a week, cleaning his back for him.

Iwaizumi isn’t even home. He goes out early in the mornings when he’d usually jog with Hanamaki, and stays out until he returns stinking of sweat and blood and tears. Oikawa doesn’t think he’s seen Iwaizumi eat in a while, and definitely hasn’t heard his voice. He’s seen the self-loathing in his eyes though, the guilt in his shoulders every time he leaves, and the apology in his posture when he returns in the evening and Oikawa deflates that it’s not Hanamaki returning home. He feels how cold Iwaizumi is at night when he shoves all the covers towards Oikawa, and how his chest seizes as he silently cries.

Oikawa’s stomach complains. He presses a hand over it to silence it before getting up and heading into the kitchen. It isn’t very promising. They’re down to the last few cans in the cupboard, having not been shopping in so long. Oikawa ponders if he can convince Iwaizumi to buy something whilst he’s out. 

Picking a can of tropical fruit mix, Oikawa opens it and returns to the corridor, eating the fruit robotically as he watches. Waits.

The door clicks. The handle moves down. Oikawa perks up as the door is pushed open, but then Iwaizumi steps in and Oikawa deflates again. He pretends not to notice the hunch of Iwaizumi’s shoulders as he shrugs off his coat and shoes, using a hand towel on the hallway rack to rub off the sweat cascading down his bare skin, the almost dry tear stains on his cheeks, and the blood on his knees. 

He’s literally been running until he drops. Multiple times. Scabs on his knees and the palms of his hands don’t have time to heal before he skims them off again.

Another sound – a bedroom door opening – draws Oikawa’s attention. Matsukawa steps out, in the same pyjamas and with an empty plate from the croissant Oikawa defrosted earlier and put on his bedside table. It’s the first time all three of them have been in the same room since the day of the crash. (They don’t like to say death. They don’t want to hear it.) Matsukawa’s eyes narrow towards someone he hasn’t seen since then, anger burning behind his dark irises. Head low, Iwaizumi makes to dart into the bedroom he shares with Oikawa. Two hands push him against the wall with a thud.

“Where the fuck were _you_!?” Oikawa leaps to his feet, can of fruit forgotten.

“Issei, Issei, leave him... Let him go...”

“Why should I? Is he just going to run off again? What are you running from, Hajime?” Iwaizumi doesn’t answer. He keeps his gaze on his feet and Oikawa hopes he’s seeing things when he thinks Iwaizumi _flinches_.

“H-Hajime... Can you tell us...? Please, we want to know... And Issei, let him go! You’re not helping the situation!” Eyes full of rage turn to him, even though it’s the grip on Iwaizumi that tightens and Oikawa understands. Matsukawa is scary. He’s accepted the grief. He’s mourned. He’s over the denial stage and the depression stage. He’s _angry_. Oikawa swallows and takes a step back. Some very hurtful things could be said, if he doesn’t manage to calm things down.

“Please, Issei. Let him go.” 

“Fine. Fucking fine. Let him run from _what he did_.”The hands slowly move away from Iwaizumi before they shove him against the wall and Matsukawa storms into the bedroom and slams the door, leaving the unclean plate on the floor where he dropped it. With a shuddering breath, Oikawa picks it up to give his hands something to do. He turns to Iwaizumi with soft eyes, about to ask if he’s okay, when he notices Iwaizumi’s expression. 

It’s downright traumatised. From wide, unseeing eyes, to the tremble in his jaw and the burning heat of unreleased tears in his cheeks. He was scared before, when Matsukawa attacked him. But he’s terrified now, because Matsukawa has essentially confessed he blames Iwaizumi, when Iwaizumi had already blamed himself.

“Oh... Oh, Hajime...” Oikawa stretches out a hand towards him, but just like the corridor at the hospital, Iwaizumi flees. Their bedroom door closes with surprising gentleness, maybe because Iwaizumi is too unsteady to slam it. Plate in hands, Oikawa slinks back to the patch of carpet that is gradually wearing down, and faces the door, at the end of the hallway. 

Like this, he can pretend it’s all okay. Until he can accept it, he can sit here with fake anticipation and plastic hopes.

It’s getting late. He glances at a clock in the living room. Almost midnight. With a deep sigh, he takes the plate and the now-empty fruit can through to the kitchen, dumping them in a washing bowl that is despairingly empty after such a long time, and goes to step into their bedroom. He hesitates with his hand over the handle. The door is slightly ajar. The light is on and the material of the bed he shares with Iwaizumi is rustling in the same way as when Oikawa uses it to wipe away tears, muffling his cries when he wakes up to an empty bed, a hollow heart, and a broken home.

Easing the door open, Oikawa hears the first words from Iwaizumi in a long time. The first thing he’s spoken since over a month ago.

“I’m so sorry... I- I’m sorry ‘Hiro... I’m so sor-rry... Pl-please come back... C-come ba-ack...” Oikawa covers a hand over his mouth, eyes widening, listening until the pleas turn to mumbles, and then the breathing of a man fallen to sleep through tears. It makes him feel... 

Numb. 

Again. It hurts so much that he locks it away and can’t feel anything. Slowly, as if trapped in a slow motion illusion, Oikawa enters the room, changes for bed, and curls up next to Iwaizumi. For once, Iwaizumi isn’t awake to pull away like he doesn’t deserve basic warmth, and Oikawa can at least grant him this slight bit of comfort.

The next morning, he wakes to cold, empty sheets with the duvet tucked over him in a very comfy way. It’s okay - he thinks - to burrow down into the cocoon Iwaizumi has left him and spend a few more minutes there, before returning to the corridor and waiting for Hanamaki to return home.

_He won’t. He’s dead._

Oikawa drags himself into the kitchen for food around lunchtime, and is extremely surprised to see Matsukawa there, frying something over an open flame, in fresh clean clothes with a neat shave and washed hair. He- He looks like he did before the crash... Oikawa rubs at his eyes. Is this a hopeful illusion? No, Matsukawa is still standing there. Is it a dream...? He pinches his arm, but instead of waking him up, it makes him release a hiss of pain that draws Matsukawa’s attention.

“Tooru, hey. Uh- Breakfast?” He tilts the pan to show an egg omelette, golden in colour and almost completely cooked. If Oikawa is drooling, no one can judge him.

“Definitely.” He moves in cautiously, until he’s standing behind Matsukawa with his arms around his waist and nose pressed into his amazingly smelling neck.

“Bet you’re wondering about the sudden change, huh?” Oikawa blinks and draws away in confusion before he realises what Matsukawa is asking about and settles back into the physical contact.

“Yeah. It- It’s just such a massive difference...” Matsukawa sighs, heavily. 

“I shouted at Hajime yesterday. Fuck, Tooru, I _blamed_ him, right to his face. That was... That was so wrong of me. It made me realise what I was becoming and how unhealthy it was. So I resolved to at least get up, dressed and fed. It’s... It’s hard, but... I’m going to try. For ‘Hiro.”

“For ‘Hiro?”

“Of course. Do you really think he’d want all of us to be moping around the house and _changing_ who we are? I mean, some things are definitely going to change. We lost Takahiro. He died and he’s not coming back. But we can... We can try to stay in one piece. To hold each other together.”

“I- Issei, that’s beautiful...”

“It’s necessary. So, you wanna go wake Hajime for food?” At this, Oikawa’s eyebrows crease into a fitting frown that mirrors the downwards angle of his lips.

“Hajime goes out before I’m even awake... Last night was the earliest he’s come home since-... Since... You know...” He feels Matsukawa take a shuddering breath underneath his hands, before moving the complete omelette to a plate, slicing it in three, and separating it on three piles of rice.

“I- I had no idea. He’s out all day? And he always comes back in that state?”

“If you mean sweaty, gross, and silent; then yes. I haven’t... I haven’t seen anything else from him. Except for last night, after you- you shouted at him... He was crying, Issei... He kept saying he was sorry and asking ‘Hiro to come back...”

“Shit, I really fucked up. Do you know where he goes?” Oikawa withdraws from the backwards hug with a guilty glance down at his feet, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and shaking his head. He never tried to figure out where Iwaizumi spent the whole day. 

He never even _thought_ about it. All he did was sit in the corridor and wait for a dead person to walk through the door. He bites his lips a little harder. Looking at it from this perspective, he can see what Matsukawa means about it being unhealthy.

And if they’re being unhealthy by staying indoors, snacking and sleeping and resting their bodies... Then how is Iwaizumi fairing? Starving himself, running himself ragged, and barely catching a few hours sleep? Oikawa’s heart sinks, because he hasn’t even been taking notice until _just now_ , when it slaps him in the face. He and Matsukawa are guilty of neglecting their boyfriend – their _alive_ boyfriend – because they were too busy thinking of Hanamaki.

Their grief was acceptable. Understandable. But that was no reason to leave Iwaizumi to wear himself down, blaming himself for Hanamaki’s death and disappearing for a full day. They hadn’t given _**any**_ comfort to him, instead supporting each other in the safety of a home where they could pretend everything was okay, or hide from the truth.

Everything was not okay. Ignoring the truth had done more harm than good. And _finally_ , after more than a month, Oikawa feels the weight on his shoulders lighten just a little, and allows himself to hurt instead of feeling so numb. Matsukawa turns around and pulls Oikawa into his chest as he cries, grieving for Hanamaki, but accepting that he had gone and wasn’t coming back. Shortly after, Matsukawa cries with him and he feels like they can overcome this together. They can’t get things back exactly the way they were before. They’ll always have that deep sadness and feel like something – some _one_ \- is missing from their relationship. But it’s a step in the right direction. Towards living again.


	3. Acceptance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic descriptions of injury.

It’s been 13 days since Matsukawa confronted him. It’s been 12 days since he came home to find Oikawa in the hallway. It’s been 6 days since he last slept without having to collapse first, and he still pushes himself.

_“Let him run from **what he did**.”_ The words won’t stop echoing in his head, no matter how much he tries to shake them away or bleach them out with counting backwards from 10,000. He even tried head-butting a wall to silence them, but it didn’t work. 

Iwaizumi runs, because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

He runs because the pain in his muscles is punishment for murdering his boyfriend. He runs because his body screaming for a break is the only voice he can bear to hear. He runs because he knows that if he stops, he’ll burn. He’ll crumble. He’ll have to face what he fears most; The house that feels so empty with Hanamaki. Panting and in a serious amount of pain, Iwaizumi grinds to a halt in a discreet alleyway, hunching over his knees and leaning against the wall to stop himself from collapsing.

He- He needs to lie down. 

He needs to rest. 

His stomach cramps and along with wheezing, he’s suddenly vomiting onto the floor. Not that there’s anything to bring up. He’s dehydrated and starved, surviving on the bare minimum of a glass of water each day. It’s not enough, he knows it’s not enough, but he wants to _hurt_. He wants to punish himself until he feels like he can atone for what he did to Hanamaki. Which he knows will never happen. He’ll never be able to make up for it. Not with any amount of pain or suffering or torture. But it’s better to punish himself as much as possible, so that maybe he would be forgiven at some stage.

Gasping breaths having dulled to small pants, Iwaizumi drags his weary feet back onto the main street and starts to run. He doesn’t stop willingly. He _never_ stops willingly. He only pauses to throw up in secluded places or catch a little of his breath so he can keep going. If he isn’t pausing, he’s collapsing.

Which is exactly what happens five minutes later before he can make it to the shade of a tree, to make it look like he accidentally fell asleep having a peaceful break. No, instead; he’s running one second, head spinning and sight blurring, and the next, he’s skidding along the ground unconscious and the nearest person screams. He just went down like a demolition site, which is a cause for concern for anybody.

But not for Iwaizumi. As soon as he comes to, despite being crowded and someone telling him to “lie still, the paramedics are on the way”, he pushes himself up and runs once more. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the outskirts of town. Small winding lanes that lead to family homes and cottages. Hanamaki used to live here, before they moved in together.

Hanamaki’s parents still live here. Iwaizumi tried to visit them, once. He wanted to apologise for being the reason their son was dead, but as soon as the door had opened, he’d been chased away with violent threats and objects thrown at his fleeing back. He’d added it to the list in his head.

Hanamaki would blame him, if he were alive.

He blamed himself, because it was all his fault and he was a murderer. 

Hanamaki’s parents were very vocal in how much they blamed him, wished he had died instead of their son. Honestly, Iwaizumi found himself agreeing.

Matsukawa blamed him – hated him – and would probably break up with him at the least. Maybe even strangle him. The petrifying fear had overshadowed the small spark of joy he felt at hands wrapping around his neck, slamming him against the wall. It was concerning, but he probably deserved it.

Oikawa hadn’t said anything yet, but Iwaizumi didn’t miss the disappointed look whenever he returned home. Oikawa wanted Hanamaki, not Iwaizumi. He didn’t love Iwaizumi any more. He didn’t care for when Iwaizumi cried, and he didn’t try to stop him from punishing himself. Oikawa didn’t love him. Nobody would love him ever again. 

His face was wet. Was it raining? Looking up at the sky, Iwaizumi saw nothing but clear blue. Ah. In that case, it didn’t matter. He could still run. His legs felt like they would give out at any second, but he ignored the warning signs. He didn’t care for the blood trickling down his elbow, chin, and left leg. The graze could infect, for all he cared. As long as it _hurt_.

For Hanamaki. For Hanamaki. For _Hanamaki_.

For Takahiro.

At some point, Iwaizumi stop ‘seeing’ where he was going, robotically running streets like machine until he automatically stopped. There were still flowers on the side of the road. Fresh, colourful flowers that were placed anew each day. Bouquets of love placed on the spot Hanamaki had essentially died, letters and candles from classmates and their volleyball team who passed here on the way to school. 

School.

Iwaizumi hadn’t been for ages. He didn’t think Matsukawa or Oikawa had either. What they were doing was probably illegal, avoiding school for this long, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as much as Hanamaki, and he had stolen that from the world. Closing his eyes, Iwaizumi relived the moment over again.

The roar of an engine. Turning around in slow motion to see the truck coming straight towards them. Movement in his peripheral vision as the other three fled. Cold ice rooting him to his spot and freezing him in place with terror, unable to do anything but stare helplessly into the grill of the truck.  
A hand grabbing his wrist and pulling him. Another hand wrapped around his shoulder and pushing him.   
Falling to the side and looking up with wide open eyes to see Hanamaki’s soft, apologetic smile, before his arms came up instinctively to protect himself and the truck slammed into him.

His outreached hand ignored as he was thrown against the fence behind them. The crippling of Hanamaki’s body as he fell to the ground. Those horrific crunching sounds as the wheel came to rest atop his body. The splatter of his blood across Iwaizumi’s face from impact to crumpling. 

Iwaizumi shuddered. He could relive Hanamaki’s death in slow motion, every single time as gruesome and painful as the last. It never dulled. It never went away. It haunted his nightmares, it followed his train of thought, and it interrupted the rare moments when he tried to think of the happy times with Hanamaki.

The crash lingered in his eyes and limbs and he cursed himself for being so useless. If only he had moved! If he could have just run with them! If he had seen Hanamaki coming back for him and pushed _him_ away instead. His soul ached. 

So he ran.

He runs until the sky is full of stars, Hanamaki amongst them, and he feels guilty for enjoying such beauty when he should be suffering. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he can’t bear to look at the stars any longer, so he heads home. When he slinks in the door, he finds it’s the latest he’s been yet. 2 in the morning. He’s got two hours until he leaves again, to repeat the routine all over again.

Except he doesn’t. 

He makes it three steps past the kitchen with vision black and blurry at the edges, body screaming with torn muscles and ripped skin, and the vague sound of someone distantly calling his name, before he collapses once more. He’s fully unconscious before warm, loving arms have caught him, and has no idea that he’s being carried bridal style into the shower, washed off, and then carried again into the car. He’s oblivious to the fact that he’s in a hospital bed, hooked up to a drip and a heart monitor, arm in a _sling_. 

Iwaizumi has no fucking clue that Oikawa and Matsukawa are sitting on either side of his bed, holding a hand each and nervously – desperately - begging for him to wake up. Oikawa sniffles and chokes back tears as he tightly holds onto Iwaizumi’s right elbow. Matsukawa bites his nails as he carefully watches Iwaizumi’s face for any sign of movement, gaze flickering to the heart monitor in paranoia. 

They lost Hanamaki in a hospital; they don’t want to lose Iwaizumi here too, as collateral of the same accident. The mask over Iwaizumi’s face fogs up with every light breath, so weak that Oikawa almost believes he isn’t breathing _at all_. Sometimes, he’s terrified the mask won’t fog up any more. He’s terrified that Iwaizumi will stop breathing and his heart will stop beating. The doctors had informed them the prognosis wasn’t good.

Malnutrition. Anorexia. Hypothermia. Broken and infected wrist bone. Torn muscles and ligaments and sprains. Damage to his throat from constantly coughing up stomach acid, since he had nothing else to empty out. Infection in some of the oldest cuts which are constantly renewed, especially in his knees.

He shouldn’t physically be able to move. He shouldn’t have been doing anything other than resting after the first few falls. But Iwaizumi had kept running, torturing himself beyond what the human body was capable off. Matsukawa can’t even begin to imagine how much it fucking _hurts_ , and the state of Iwaizumi’s mind that led to him to forcing that much pain on himself. It’s self harm and abuse, in the most unnoticeable way possible to achieve.

Except it isn’t. Looking at him lying in the hospital bed, Matsukawa can immediately so much that is wrong – that was a _sign_ \- he feels like an idiot for not picking up on the signals and getting Iwaizumi help.

Now Hanamaki Takahiro, 17, is dead, and Iwaizumi Hajime, 17, is barely alive. 

Matsukawa isn’t even sure he _wants_ to be alive. Nobody that cares for their physical health lets it get this far, and Matsukawa finds himself wishing he had realised earlier. 

That instead of mourning in his bed, he had spent a few days on the sofa. Maybe he could have intercepted before it ever got this far out of hand. He smoothes a thumb over the back of Iwaizumi’s hand, glancing over to Oikawa. He’s asleep. Arms folded on the edge of the bed and ear to his forearms, Oikawa is finally taking a rest instead of constantly staring at Iwaizumi and _worrying_. Not that Matsukawa can say anything about that. It would make him a hypocrite.

“Ha-Hajime... Oh, Hajime, I’m so sorry... All this time, you were hurting yourself as well as hurting from-... From Takahiro’s death. We could have stopped you... We _should_ have stopped you... Hajime, please wake up... Please let us make up for ignoring you...” There are hot tears dripping down Matsukawa’s face as his shaking hands lift Iwaizumi’s hand off the bed sheet and to his lips, the gentlest kiss brushed against Iwaizumi’s knuckles, and a firmer one pressed to the back of his hand.

For a moment, he thinks it’s his hopeful imagination – just wishful thinking – when he feels Iwaizumi’s fingers twitch. But then there’s a soft groan that’s quiet enough to be a whimper, and Matsukawa snaps his attention to Iwaizumi’s face. His nose is scrunched. His eyebrows are furrowed. Deep frown lines are creased into his face as his lips tug into a sharp wince.

He’s waking up. He’s _okay_. 

Before he gets too excited, Matsukawa reminds himself that no, Iwaizumi is not okay. Iwaizumi is lying in a hospital bed after destroying himself, pulling apart what remained after Hanamaki’s death. He’s waking up and he’s alive, but there’s no guarantee that he’s okay. After so long, and the confrontation 13 days ago, Matsukawa has no idea what Iwaizumi’s mental health is going to be like. He could still be terrified. He could still feel guilty. He could be- 

Staring at Matsukawa with blank eyes, a cloudy haze over green eyes that used to shine so brightly with vigour for life. There’s nothing there anymore. Not sparks of love, not burning ambition, not even a glint of happiness. The dead look in his eyes is reminiscent of how Matsukawa saw Hanamaki in nightmares, as if he were standing over the body and wondering why it had to be _him_ -

Now he feels like he lost two loved ones that day, instead of one. Iwaizumi blinks slowly and recognition floods his eyes, snatching his hand away from Matsukawa with a tremble. It’s vaguely reminiscent of a cornered animal. Matsukawa’s heart stings, because he knows that expression wouldn’t be directed at him if he hadn’t attacked Iwaizumi the other day.

“Haji- Hajime... No, no, no... It’s okay, don’t be scared... I’m not going to hurt you, I’m so sorry...” He carefully and softly takes Iwaizumi’s hand back in his own, holding it with tenderness as if it were made of fragile glass, like the tail end of a Prince Rupert’s drop. This time, Iwaizumi doesn’t pull away, but his gaze flickers with confusion between Matsukawa and his hand.

“Hajime... I love you so much. I’m sorry.”

“You- You love me...?” The voice is dry and cracked with disuse, high-pitched with disbelief and genuine surprise. It breaks Matsukawa’s heart a little. He reaches one hand out to press a warm palm flat against Iwaizumi’s cheek, fighting back tears when he can feel just how _thin_ Iwaizumi has worked himself to. It’s unhealthy, how much his cheekbones protrude. It feels almost like they’ll slice through the skin at any minute. Regardless, Iwaizumi unconsciously presses back against the touch.

“Of course I do... I love you. I love you like the stars love the sky and the river loves the ocean. I love you like the breeze loves the trees and the seed loves the ground. Hajime, you mean so much to me... You’re a massive part of my life, of my _heart_. I love you.”

“I thought y-you hated me... You hated me and To- Oikawa didn’t care...” Matsukawa is so glad that Oikawa is asleep at this instance, because the use of his last name would destroy him. It’s like losing another boyfriend. 

It’s not as painful as Hanamaki’s death, because he was just ripped away without warning. It was so sudden, it was a messy slash through their hearts and souls. Iwaizumi’s growing distance, wedged between them by their different methods of mourning, was a throbbing ache that only grew and grew, so small at first that it was impossible to notice until it was too bad to reverse without help.

“We care. We love you, Hajime. So please... Please don’t leave us like H-‘Hiro did...” His voice cracks a little. Water gathers in his eyes and he closes them to force two small tears out before they built into more, and leans over to press his forehead to Iwaizumi’s. For a moment, there’s only breathing in the room, and the constant beep of a shaky heartbeat, sped up from proximity, apprehension, and upset.

“I- I won’t...” Weakly – his muscles not up to moving quite so soon – Iwaizumi reaches up and wraps his arms as best he can around Matsukawa, jostling the sling but not caring for the pain. He has to hold his own broken wrist to stop his arms from falling back down as his shoulder joints scream in agony, and that’s when Iwaizumi realises just how _skeletal_ he must look. He can fit his thumb and pinky finger around his wrist, radius and ulna bones notably standing out. His voice drops to a small whisper.

“M-Matsukawa... How- How bad is it...?”

“It?”

“Mhm. Me. How bad is- How likely am I to die?” Matsukawa exhales long, slow, and silent. He presses his lips against Iwaizumi’s forehead and draws back to a more comfortable position, gently guiding Iwaizumi’s tired arms back to the bed.

“Now that you’re awake, not _as_ likely. But- But you have to eat. You have to take medicine. Hajime, you have to attend the recommended therapy, _please_. Tooru and I are going to. We- We signed up when we realised what we had done to you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise! Don’t you dare apologise. This- This wasn’t solely your fault. It was a combined effort. We were all suffering, but that was no excuse for us to let you hurt yourself.”

“I had to. Matsukawa, I _have_ to. How- How could I ever face Takahiro if I- If I can’t make up for what I’ve done...?”

_“Let him run from **what he did**.”_ Recalling his words, Matsukawa stops breathing for a couple of seconds, face paling. When Iwaizumi breaks his gaze as if to accept that this is still Matsukawa’s opinion, that the blame is all his, Matsukawa lunges forwards and pulls Iwaizumi into a tight, unyielding hug.

“No. No, it’s not your fault. Hajime, Hajime, it’s not your fault. You did **nothing wrong**. It’s not your fault. Hajime, you- You didn’t kill Takahiro.” Those are the words Iwaizumi hasn’t heard, the words he needed to hear at his lowest, and the words that have him break into tears in Matsukawa’s arms, softly sobbing and silently screaming because he doesn’t have the strength for anything else. Matsukawa holds him close, rocking him from side to side and whispering gently comfort into his ear.

“It’s okay, it’s okay... There we go... Let it out, Hajime... Shh... I’ve got you...It’s not your fault, it was never your fault, I’m so sorry... Shh... It’s okay... From now on, l-let’s cry together, okay? We can- We can all stay in the same bed, and we can hold each other, and we can cry together. We’ll mourn Takahiro the _healthy_ way... Shh... It’s okay, Hajime. You’re safe. You’re safe and loved and we’ll never neglect you like that again.”

“Issei? H-Hajime?!” That’s all the warning they get before Oikawa throws himself over them, pulling them both close in a desperate embrace and bawling out tears of his own. It sets off something in Matsukawa, who gives a wet chuckle as he smiles and comforts and cries.

For the first time since Hanamaki’s passing, it feels like he’s home. It- It’s not perfect. It never will be perfect because there’s someone missing. But it’s a step in the right direction and a beat in his heart. 

Once they’ve released pent up grief, Iwaizumi agrees to go to the therapy, but only if one of his boyfriends can come with him, seeing as he’s in a different group at a different time. He takes his medicine, eats the hospital meals, and he _tries_ , he really tries. 

His release date from the hospital is Hanamaki’s birthday. It’s a bittersweet day, but with newfound strength from supporting each other, they find it within themselves to go to the grave. They missed the funeral, but they can pay their respects here. Oikawa pulls over at a shop on the way, and they buy tealight candles, flowers, and most importantly, three cream puffs. One plain, one salted caramel, on chocolate. It had been a tradition for them to give him these on his birthday, instead of a cake.

Placed on the gravestone, a high-quality white marble with grey and russet swirls and black flecks, the gifts look like they were made to match. In silence, the boys stay there until the candles have burnt. Oikawa takes in a deep breath, looking up at the soft pinkish clouds painted by the sunset. 

It feels like Hanamaki is watching over them, like he coloured the sky this way _just_ for his birthday. Just for them. It would be a very Hanamaki thing to do. Oikawa smiles in the warmth of a ray from the setting sun, before peeling open eyelids he hadn’t realised he’d closed and squeezing Matsukawa and Iwaizumi’s hands encouragingly.

“Come on. Let’s go home~.”


End file.
